Holly Conant

      The Slip Hold on tight to my writing hand, darling boy. Who knows how many words I have left. Don’t let me give them all to the page.   Holly Conant is a new writer and mature student, currently studying at the University of Leeds. Her poems...
The Wood Conductor by Marc Woodward

The Wood Conductor by Marc Woodward

    The Wood Conductor by Marc Woodward There was no sign of a woodcutter in the tin shack raised from the red earth, the black wood of an archived forest. Dismembered trees haunted the air, ghosts in the pungency of cut pine. A tepid cup sat by a soiled...

David Sapp

      Groundhog Bachelor and Drunk Ganders Before the art opening, over appetizers downtown, leisurely and expansively, my aunts Evelyn and Jane swapped stories availing the phrase “it’s true, it’s true” too frequently. According to their testimony (not...

Sidrah Zubair

    IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED We have detected a trojan virus! I have developed affinities for dying in peculiar ways such as being choked by the moonlight’s shaking hands or swallowing a cup of live rattlesnake babies Personal and banking information is at...

Jenny Mitchell

    Vanishing Mother A jar of Pond’s cold cream glows in amongst her female debris on the dressing table; talc sprinkled with a lipstick smear across a comb. Tissues fluff out of a slit – half-done magic trick beneath a heart-shaped mirror, picturing the...